


The Arrangements

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [56]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Concubinage, Contracts, Doing the Right Thing, Even When It's No Fun, F/M, Family Drama, Forced Prostitution, Friendship, Guilt, Idiots in Love, Kimono, Letters, Love, Magnificent Bastards, Propositions, Scheming, plots and schemes, shogi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: [Set before the series begins]  Byakuya counters his family's proposal to make Hisana his concubine with a proposal of his own.  Hisana discovers who is acting as the go-between to sell her kimono.  Hisana takes a meeting with Ginrei to discuss the family's plans for her.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Series: A Thin Red Line [56]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	The Arrangements

Byakuya waits quietly outside his grandfather’s office. His knees are pressed to the glossy floorboards running perfect parallel lines through the manor’s halls. Byakuya doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a move for fear that the nightingale floors will chirp against his weight.

He is lost. 

Thoughts swarm his head, a thousand petals, cold and bladed. Kyōraku’s proposal cuts his mind the sharpest. The captain’s plot is elegant—a characteristic that he ordinarily finds desirable in any plot—but there is a pitfall to it. One so large that it threatens to swallow his heart.

Even if he could raise the funds to buy Hisana’s contract under the pretext of purchasing two kimono— _a big_ _if_ —she would be the rightful purchaser of her own contract. She would be free to do as she pleased. 

He knows it’s petty and selfish and plenty of other _negative characteristics of his_ to weigh her freedom against his own desires, but here he is. Afraid that she won’t accept any offer to remain by his side freely. Not under the current conditions. 

Why would she? 

As it stands, he’s set to marry Suiko Heishi in little more than a year’s time. Married, he would be consumed by obligations to his family and Squad Six. His relationship with Hisana would become a fraying thread ready to break under even the lightest of pressure.

Hisana deserves better. She could find someone better. Someone who could protect her, care for her, and offer her a legitimized place at his side. 

She is beautiful, graceful, and intelligent. 

And, he admires her above all women.

Then, there is the niggling fact that he knows if Hisana was free and able to make her own decisions without the burden of bondage, propriety would demand her to extricate herself from him. If anything, Hisana has proven herself to have a high threshold for the pain that comes with maintaining social harmony.

That leaves him in a loveless marriage yearning for a woman he can never have and whose decency will require her to refuse any advances he makes.

And, yet . . . .

Rejecting Kyōraku’s proposal doesn’t mean he will have Hisana in his life, either. His family has not yet decided whether she may serve as his concubine. Even if they did agree to that arrangement, he fears it would be an unhappy one.

He would take her for himself, but at what cost?

As his grandfather said, any child Hisana would bear would need to be legitimized by Suiko, which in practice would be . . . _traumatic_. . . especially given Hisana’s history. He could not acknowledge her in public. Their love would be confined to the margins, a dark secretive thing, not to be recorded or mentioned after their deaths. She would also be indebted to him if he purchased her contract. He would never know if she stood by his side of her own free will or because duty demanded it of her.

The worst fate, he reasons, would be if he takes no action. If he does not purchase her contract outright or covertly, then Tadahiro would claim her. Tadahiro is shrewd, competent, and strong, but Byakuya does not miss the apprehension that bleeds Hisana’s face white when she is in Tadahiro’s presence for any length of time. 

“Are you coming in, Byakuya?” calls Grandfather, “or are you going to dawdle outside my room?” With this question, the shoji door snaps back with a wooden _clack_.

Grandfather’s shadow blankets him. “Byakuya?” he chastens when Byakuya does not immediately move inside the room.

Byakuya lifts his head. His gaze is glassy, vacant, and, observing this, Grandfather frowns at him. 

“Come in,” snaps Grandfather, beginning toward his desk. “You have become sullen and withdrawn lately,” he continues and drops into an easy seiza on his cushion, “Such sad state is unbecoming of a lord.”

Byakuya sits stiffly on the cushion in front of Grandfather’s desk. “Forgive me.” He lowers his head. The heat of emotion—painful or otherwise—evaporates in his grandfather’s presence.

Wearily, Byakuya meets his grandfather’s eyes. He isn’t sure which draws Grandfather’s scorn more: His fiery arrogance or his icy indifference. The latter, at least, extinguishes any drive to take reckless action.

Grandfather sets a stack of papers on the desk and stares _expectantly_ at Byakuya.

Byakuya has no idea what meaning to read into his grandfather’s look. 

They aren’t at Squad Six so the papers aren’t likely related to division affairs. Briefly, Byakuya wonders if these documents are the final set of marriage papers. If that’s the case, however, they are premature, he thinks, unless the family wants him to marry Suiko next spring. This possibility, however, seems _unfathomable_ to Byakuya, given the _extensive_ wedding preparations taken thus far with a later date in mind.

“The family has agreed to allow you to take Hisana as your concubine. These are the terms,” says Grandfather. 

Byakuya’s eyes trail to the weave of the tatami. 

Agitated, Grandfather’s fingers drum on the top of the stacked papers. “The family has agreed to purchase her contract, provide her housing within the Third District, and a yearly living.” He then slides the documents to Byakuya. “For your review.”

Nothing. Byakuya does not respond. He just stares ahead.

“I expected a better reaction,” observes Grandfather drily.

Byakuya turns his head, gaze crawling up the walls. He knows what he has to do. His eyes squeeze close, his brows knit together, and the muscles in his jaw clench. 

“Are there stipulations on the financing?” he asks.

An almost imperceptible smirk lengthens the lines of his grandfather’s face when he says, “ _Our_ family drew up the terms. Of course there are financial stipulations.” 

Grandfather pauses, and Byakuya can feel the heat of his scrutiny intensify. “ _Why do you ask, Byakuya_?” Censure billows through Grandfather’s voice, as if he is preparing for an answer that he isn’t going to like.

“Could I take the money in a lump sum?”

Grandfather’s brows lift, and, in a rare instance, surprise etches into his face. “To what end?” he asks on a note of disapproval.

Byakuya shakes his head and opens his eyes. He keeps his stare trained on the baseboards directly behind his grandfather’s desk. “Kimono. Two kimono,” he says, and, in that moment, he feels like he has stepped outside of himself. The words don’t sound like they come from him, but from another man. A better man.

“You want to spend the money allocated to purchase Hisana’s _contract and living expenses_ on _two kimono_?” asks Grandfather, voice caught between incredulity and a scoff.

“Perhaps.”

“I am not following.” Grandfather stops, brows lowering, gaze narrowing. “Are you _intoxicated_ , Byakuya?”

Byakuya doesn’t answer. A cold, wet churning in his stomach keeps his mind occupied. He feels like a wildfire has started in his brain, one that he is powerless to stop.

“So,” Grandfather tries again, desperately seeking to solve the riddle that Byakuya has put to him, “instead of purchasing Hisana’s contract and providing her with a living, you would like to use that money on two kimono?” his tone betrays his disbelief. “You do not wish Hisana for a concubine, then?”

Byakuya flinches at the question, his heart quickening. “No.” He stops, gaze trailing to his grandfather. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“Whom are the kimono for, Byakuya? Suiko?” Grandfather’s voice wavers at the posited answer to his own question. It’s the sound of hope that immediately dashes itself on retrospection.

“If I said they were for Suiko, could I have the funds unencumbered?” Byakuya speaks the words in an even deadpan, but the dare in his gaze elicits a hint of a grin from his grandfather.

The grin, however, quickly disappears, and Grandfather’s steely eyes cloud. “If not for Suiko, then whom?” he asks, bewilderment once again entering his voice. “Is there _yet another woman_?”

Byakuya shakes his head. “No other woman.”

“Hisana won’t need kimono as Tadahiro’s concubine, and I assume she would rather prefer freedom to two kimono.” The words hang in the air for a moment before realization breaks across Grandfather’s face, easing the tension in his forehead. “Who is selling these kimono, Byakuya?”

“The offer comes from Captain Kyōraku.”

“And how has Kyōraku come into these excessively costly kimono?” Grandfather’s words are quick and sharp, like a whittler’s blade eating into soft wood.

“Hisana.”

The lines in Grandfather’s face go still, and, for a brief moment, Byakuya imagines he sees approval flash in Grandfather’s eyes. “I see. Hisana is selling the kimono and plans to use the proceeds to buy her own contract.”

Byakuya’s heart squeezes hard. His internal body temperature plummets, but he refuses the shiver biting at his spine.

“And you don’t want to buy her contract directly because?” Grandfather’s question sounds rhetorical, but it pierces Byakuya all the same. He flinches, the muscles in his jaw flickering under his skin, and his eyes skitter to the door that has been pulled open to reveal the side lawn.

“—because you don’t want her to feel obligated to you,” continues Grandfather, answering his own question as the silence between them thickens. 

Grandfather’s mask of indifference drops, revealing a pitying look. “You know that if you do this, she will have no ties to you, no tether?”

“I know.” Byakuya closes his eyes and quietly kills the tendril of horror that rises in his chest. 

“She likely will not consent to becoming your concubine.”

“I know.”

“You may never see her again.”

“I know,” this time his answer comes on a broken breath. 

The prospect of losing Hisana feels like the suffering associated with the fresh death of a loved one. Byakuya doesn’t doubt that his mourning will be as intense, even if he can find comfort in having, hopefully, helped to bring her some measure of peace.

Grandfather pauses, his gaze softening as he observes Byakuya. “Do these kimono yet have a price?” 

Byakuya shakes his head. “It’s unclear what the terms of the sale will be, or if the kimono are encumbered by the House.”

“I will remove any conditions imposed by the Peony House,” says Grandfather decidedly.

“The kimono were given to her by Tadahiro. There may be conditions imposed that the House cannot remove.”

“I will remove the barriers that we have authority over, then, and consider what to do with any others that remain.”

Byakuya nods and inhales a sharp breath.

“I have tea scheduled with Hisana tomorrow. I will make her the current proposal,” Grandfather says, patting the documents, “while you sort out the details on the kimono. If nothing else, the proposal will stay Tadahiro’s hand for a period.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.” Byakuya bows politely before pulling away to leave.

“Byakuya,” calls Grandfather, voice hooking him in place in the middle of the floor, “well done. You have convinced me of your heart.”

Byakuya doesn’t look back. He merely pauses long enough to lower his head, and then he is gone.

* * *

Hisana sets tea for Masao Kuchiki, who sits alone in the café outside the Diet Building. In his hand is a newspaper, but his eyes are on her. He looks like he wants to say something. His lips opening and closing, as if his words turn up wanting each time.

“You’re not going to knock your teacup over, are you?” she asks teasingly, catching him from the corner of her eye as she pours the tea.

He smiles fondly up at her. “Not if you agree to sit with me for a moment.”

Hisana straightens her back and twists her hands in the fall of her red apron. She pans the large, open-air café for a moment. There are very few patrons at this early hour, and Sotan isn’t exactly the strictest of supervisors. 

With an appeasing grin, she takes a seat in front of Kuchiki. “Milord.”

“Lord Yogi informs me that this is your last day with us.”

She nods. “My last shift, actually. My service ends this afternoon.”

“Pity. I was hoping to get to know you better.”

“Why?” the question just falls out of her mouth, and, upon hearing its bluntness, she flushes.

He chuckles at her astonishment. “My cousin seems to think you’re worthy of knowing, an honor few seem to earn in his high opinion.”

“Lord Byakuya Kuchiki?” she asks.

Kuchiki nods. “Byakuya, yes.”

“Are you close with Lord Kuchiki?”

He pauses, eyes flitting up. “Once upon a time we were close, when we were children. He was a fiery youth, prone to fights and disputes.”

Hisana smiles at this. She knows of Lord Byakuya’s fieriness, his heat, but she plays along, sensing Kuchiki would like to reminisce. “Is that so?”

Kuchiki returns her smile. “If you can believe it. He would always best me when we practiced hakuda. His daily trouncings are what convinced me that life in the ranks was not for me.”

“What happened after then?”

“Time and duties set in. He was being groomed to lead the clan and Squad Six. I chose to build my career here. I still regard him with fondness, and I’d like to think the feeling is mutual, but I don’t know. He’s changed a great deal from our days of play-pretend battles. I as well, I’m sure.”

“Are you attached at present?” Hisana asks, hoping to bury her intention.

His smile widens, splitting his lips, and, in an instant, she knows he has misconstrued her meaning. 

“If you’re inquiring after my marriageability, I’m flattered. And, as much as I would love to torture my mother with such a thing, that delight isn’t worth the swift death at the hands of my cousin that would surely be my fate if I so much as turned a crude thought to you.”

She blushes a little at his words. “I’m asking for a friend.”

“Oh,” he says, brows lifted in intrigue. 

“Yes,” Hisana nods, “she is a lady of good birth, kind, talented with the shamisen, and writes the loveliest of letters.” And, Hisana very much doubts that she can maintain Suiko’s friendship when she is forced into Tadahiro’s servitude. 

A knowing grin curves Kuchiki’s lips, and he leans back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. “The Lady Heishi no doubt is to whom you are referring.”

“Yes. She has kept me plied with many entertaining stories during my time here, but I don’t think I will be able to stay in her confidences much longer.”

Kuchiki stares at her, nonplussed. “Oh, why do you say that, Miss Hisana?”

Anxiety throws a knot in her belly, and, nervously, her fingers tangle together. “I—um,” she scours the ground in search of a solution.

“I see,” he says. “You don’t know yet.”

Her brow furrows. “I don’t know what yet?”

Kuchiki offers her a charitable smile, but he shakes his head. “As much as I would like to tell you, I’m sworn to secrecy on this matter. Lord Yogi and I both.”

Realization hits like a wave in a storm, and Hisana is breathless. 

_No_ , her inner pragmatist reasons, _this cannot be. They wouldn’t make me this offer._

Her heart dies a little at the thought of entertaining _two_ proposals of concubinage. And yet . . . her read of the situation nicely hangs together: Lord Yogi’s and Kuchiki’s comments when she was reviewing the Gotei 13’s proposed budget, why Lord Yogi was insistent that she gain a baseline knowledge of accounting, and both men’s seeming ignorance of her connection to Tadahiro Konoe. 

“Lady Heishi,” Hisana begins again, “she is very sweet, but I worry about her.”

Kuchiki tilts his head a little, a silent request for her to expand her meaning.

“The lord, he is—” Hisana doesn’t want to say the word “cold,” but her hesitance implies it all the same.

“He is aloof,” agrees Kuchiki. “The family has forced him into that sad state, I’m afraid.”

“I think she would be well-served by an ally who is more familiar with the lord. I was hoping to encourage you to take up correspondence with the lady, but then it dawned on me how improper that encouragement would be if you were attached.”

“I am unattached at present, and I am happy to write to the lady. I should have done so sooner for propriety’s sake.”

“Thank you, milord,” says Hisana with a bow of her head, and then she leaves him.

Hisana carries out the remainder of her service in contemplative silence. She wants so much to slow the flow of time to spare her from a decision that will force her into a role that she does not want. But, her whole life has unfolded through roles that she never truly wanted. Abandoner. Whore. Now, mistress. 

And, while she doesn’t _want_ to be Tadahiro Konoe’s mistress, she knows she _can’t_ be Lord Byakuya’s mistress. 

When she enters the litter sent by the Peony House to return her to the Pleasure Quarters, she pulls out one of Tojuro’s letters that she hides in Byakuya’s book of folklore.

> _My very dear friend,_
> 
> _I am in receipt of your two kimono._
> 
> _May I comment on how much Yua has grown? She’s lovely, Hisana, and her manners are impeccable. She’s not like those nasty sticky-fingered children who run letters and gossip about every little thing in them! Even after being pressed by me, she never broke your confidences. (Don’t think too hard on that last sentence. You know that I love you, but your life has taken a turn for the exciting, and I don’t think you’re confiding as much in me or Okuni as we ought to know.)_
> 
> _I know, I know. Moving on._
> 
> _My theater’s appraiser will be in house early this week, and I will discreetly ask him to provide his thoughts on the kimono that Yua sent over. Fortunately for you, I already have a motivated theater patron to aid in this effort._
> 
> _Let me know when you’ve returned to the Flower and Willow World, and we can discuss the next steps._
> 
> _Miss you terribly,_
> 
> _T_

Hisana heaves a long breath. Part of her dares not to hope. It’s entirely possible that the kimono have some herculean obligation that will demand satisfaction in order for her to claim them as her own. Then, there is the fact that, even if the kimono appraise at an astronomical price, it does not mean they will sell for that price. 

The buyers determine the real value.

Yet….

Freedom is such a tempting prospect. Freedom from obligations, obligations that would surely be imposed upon her if she becomes a concubine. 

_Tadahiro_.

Her heart drops. She knows it’s only a matter of time before he calls upon her, demanding her answer to his proposal. 

Closing her eyes, she inhales a deep breath through her nose. 

She prays that she can sell her kimono before she is forced to accept.

When the litter passes through the red gates of the Pleasure Quarters, Hisana asks to be let out so that she can walk the rest of the way. Her request is obliged, and, for a long while, she wanders the streets in a fugue. She doesn’t quite remember where she’s been, which shops she’s perused, or who she sees on the streets when twilight falls and she finds herself on the bridge crossing the stream. 

The water looks like liquid gold rushing under her. It moves quickly, almost violently, yanking a few unwilling fish along on its current. Yet, its rhythm and babbling still her thoughts long enough for the numbness to set in. Dark, sweet nothing envelops her and drags her down to a deep sunken place.

“The stream is much too shallow if you’re thinking about throwing yourself in.”

It takes a few moments for the warmth of the man’s earthy baritone to penetrate the thick nothingness that pins her down. When it does, Hisana startles with a gasp on her lips. 

She turns to find Captain Kyōraku at her side, peering down at the water with her. He wears a serious expression when her eyes find his. 

“I wasn’t—” Her heart flutters inside her chest, “I wouldn’t—”

It would be a lie to say that she has _never_ had the impulse. Her dark days have a high tally, but stupid, sweet hope that she might find redemption, even be reunited with her sister, keeps her feet on solid ground. Yes, hope. Her favorite poison. 

The captain doesn’t appear convinced.

“I must have looked pretty desolate, then.” Her gaze slips back to the roiling waters below. 

“Desperate, as in need of respite,” he says, “is how you look.” Present tense.

“It has been a long few months.” She lets out a small sigh.

“I take it that you aren’t pleased with your current offers.”

“Offers?” she parrots the word back. It has a funny mouth-feel and falls leaden in the air between them. 

His brows raise a hairsbreadth, as if to urge her to continue.

“I have only received one offer.” Her heart bucks in her chest, knocking a heavy blow against her lungs.

“I see,” he says. “I take it the offer comes with conditions.”

“I’m a whore, Captain. All offers are conditional.”

She expects him to flinch at her words, the roughness of them, but he doesn’t. He continues to stare at her. His expression edges pity, but it never fully commits. 

“Too many conditions, then?” he amends.

“I wouldn’t say the number is the problem; it’s the magnitude.”

“ _Just_ the _magnitude_ , _not_ the _offeror_ himself?” 

She glimpses him sidelong. A sinking feeling tells her that he is referring to Tadahiro.

“The unpleasantness of the offeror somehow makes this particular kind of arrangement less burdensome.”

“I see,” he says, and he turns to lean back a little on the thick railing of the bridge. His elbows digging into the dry wood. “So, if I offered to purchase your contract with no expectation of marriage or concubinage, would that be preferable to Tadahiro’s proposal?”

It’s a hypothetical, pure and simple. He isn’t actually offering; he asks only to test a hypothesis. Why? Maybe something to do with Lord Byakuya or Lord Captain Kuchiki. She isn’t sure. But, she entertains his theoretical if only because the Captain’s attention is preferable to the sunken place her mind keeps wanting to escape to. 

“Preferable? Perhaps. But, unpleasant nonetheless.”

He glances askance at her, as if he’s on the verge of understanding her meaning, but not quite there yet.

“Anyone who buys an oiran’s contract, especially one that’s value is as high as mine, is imposing upon her a lofty moral debt. A debt that she can never repay despite her greatest efforts. It’s servitude with fewer conditions than her present state, but a servitude nonetheless,” she continues.

“What if the man is only trying to rescue her and expects nothing in return?”

Hisana arches a brow. “That man is foolish, and there is nothing worse than being in service to a fool,” she says, voice heavy with sarcasm.

The captain chuckles. “Very true, that.” He lingers in the beam of sun that slants from the sky for a moment, then his face goes quiet. “But, what if the man does it for love? All men must be forgiven their foolishness in love.”

“The debt does not diminish because the intent is sweet, Captain.”

“What if the woman loves him, too?”

“Worse still. Given their relative statuses, her love will always pale in comparison. The debts will accumulate no differently than they did when she was a courtesan chained to her bordello. And, if she loves him—truly loves him—she will feel compelled to redress this imbalance to the end of her days.”

His gaze turns to the passersby who stream across the bridge. He is lost in his thoughts, which reading the lines of his face do not easily unearth.

“Not all women want to be rescued, Captain. Most would rather rescue themselves,” she adds, turning to study him more fully. “Many, however, aren’t given that chance.”

He closes his eyes, and she thinks he might challenge her assertion. After a long silent beat, he looks at her, and she is confronted with another unreadable gaze. “This was a good conversation, Miss Hisana. I see things a little more clearly, now,” he says, pulling away and shifting his shoulders to keep the lines of his haori pristine. 

He then gives her an obliging nod of his head, as if to take his leave. 

“Where are you going, Captain?” she asks, wanting just one more moment to spare her from the loneliness.

“To see a man about some very fine kimono.” He smiles and gives her a knowing wag of his brows. Then, he is off.

Hisana watches the Captain’s retreating back until the crowds swallow him. 

_Tojuro’s theater patron_ , she thinks, equal parts grateful and saddened. 

Just as the skies turn from gold to black, Hisana traces the familiar roads back to the Peony House. An internal tundra has gripped her soul, freezing her in a deep winter’s night, and encasing her nerves and muscles in thick ice. She moves leaden and graceless.

Maybe she isn’t so different from the Yuki-onna in Masuyo’s story or the demon that Tadahiro judged her to be. She is a disaster, a walking curse. And, as the House goes silent when she crosses the threshold, Hisana cannot hear the words meant to pull her attention. The snow in her mind is too loud.

Adrift, she relies on the harsh tugs, the sharp pulls, and the tearing jerks that bring her into her mistress’s parlor. She stares, unable to square a single thought or feeling. She stares, lifeless and lost.

A stinging slap to the face brings her back to the surface, gasping and breathless. 

“Are you listening, now, Hisana?”

Barely, but, yes. 

Mistress stands in the middle of the room. Her hands are on her hips, and she wears the red shades of rage well. The lines in her face deepen. “Where have you been? We were scared to death after you.”

Hisana thinks she might hear genuine fear crackle in her mistress’s voice, not the mocking scorn the woman tends to summon when addressing her oiran. 

“Also, what have you been doing all this time?” Mistress’s face comes alive. Her cheeks redden. Her eyes go wide, flecked with the golden light that flickers from the nearby lanterns. “I swear,” she sighs, breath falling heavy and long, and she turns to shut the door behind her, “you’ve been more trouble at the Chambers than you ever were in the House.”

“What?” Hisana’s brows gather together. 

“Well, there was that _lovely bill_ that passed in the Chambers that now allows prostitutes to request a full accounting of their debts. The measure was introduced by Lord Yogi. You wouldn’t happen to have had a hand in that, would you’ve, _Hisana_?”

Hisana chuckles at the realization that the source of her mistress’s vexation was the potential _burden_ of the legislation, not her well-being. 

“Don’t lie to me, _girl_. I’m well aware of the rumors that you served Lord Yogi as his personal page.”

Before Hisana can respond—happy at the prospect of telling Mistress the truth—Mistress raises a hand and shakes her head, as if she is combating an excruciating migraine. 

Mistress never had an appetite for obvious truths. 

“Then, there was Lord Yogi, who claimed your ledgers for himself. The questions, Hisana! The _questions_ he asked _me_.” She grabs at her neck as if she might be choking, and the blood vessels in her forehead bulge a little. Mistress looks like she’s about to cry. “His tone was so accusatory. So _cruel_ when he asked me those pointed questions about your debts. Like I had done something _wrong._ ”

Hisana wants desperately to roll her eyes. She doesn’t think— _not for one second_ —that her mistress _wilted_ under Lord Yogi’s inquiry. Mistress is a shrewd, clever woman who metes out scrutiny like it is her moral obligation. 

“Does he not know our _bond_ , Hisana? You’re like a daughter to me. How dare he intervene in our relationship. The trust we have—”

“I saw the ledgers, Mistress. I saw them all, and I declare there is little trust between us in terms of their accounting,” Hisana interrupts, a flickering flame heating the winter in her chest.

The storm-cloud that once darkened Mistress’s face passes quickly. The threat of tears no more. Likely realizing that Hisana is in _no mood_ to take pity on her, Mistress’s gaze cuts to the lantern on the small table at Hisana’s side. 

“I take it you will be making a request for a correction to your ledgers?”

“Yes, based on my accounting I believe my contract could be reduced by at least twenty percent of its current quoted price. I _expect_ that courtesy given the number of years that I have added value to this House.”

Mistress hugs her chest, and her fingers dig into the silk of her red sleeves. A touch of iron cools her gaze, but her jaw is clenched, and her lips are bent into a scowl. “I also have received requests for your contract from both the Konoe and Kuchiki clans. Care to explain that?” Her gaze hardens.

“Tadahiro has offered me concubinage at his side. The Kuchiki—” Hisana stops herself and shrugs, “maybe they asked because of Lord Yogi’s requests.”

Mistress appears unconvinced. “Why would Tadahiro have made you any such offer? He could’ve taken you for himself, no extension of an offer necessary, unless there was some _one_ or some _family_ cautioning prudence.” 

“I have received no similar offer from the Kuchiki, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you expecting one?”

Hisana lifts a shoulder and turns her cheek. “That family and their schemes are as unfathomable to me as they are to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” growls Mistress, trying her best to force a look of contempt, but Hisana sees the hesitation in her eyes. 

Whether either wants to admit it, there is a comradery between them. Mistress is harsh, shrill, and cunning, but she has to be. The world isn’t kind to poor women grasping for a place in it, a fact Hisana knows well. Too well.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hisana agrees, “Tadahiro will have what he wants soon enough.”

“Such a fool that man and you as well for not seeing it.”

Hisana glances over her shoulder. “You mean the kimono?”

The drapes of silk in Mistress’s robes flutter as she shifts to face Hisana. She appears shocked. The venom drains from her face, and her eyes soften. “So, you finally realized his error?” she asks, voice going quiet, a mere whisper.

Hisana can hear Mistress’s unspoken, _‘About damn time,’_ as if she sang it to Hisana from across the room.

“I saw that the kimono were not on my ledger. I don’t know the reason behind it well enough to judge it an error,” replies Hisana.

Mistress smirks. “In his pride, he didn’t want the kimono to inure to the Kuchiki’s benefit. He requested that they are gifted to you, and you alone.”

“No other conditions?”

“No, you fool. The man loves you. I told you he did this weeks ago! I thought you understood me then.” Her countenance blackens as she searches Hisana.

Hisana stares dumbfounded at her mistress. Carefully, she retraces their prior conversations. Her heart sinks when she remembers that Mistress _had_ told her that Tadahiro, _‘in one night, gifted two kimono worth the sum of three mansions each’_ to _her_.

Hisana assumed that the kimono had been gifted to the House, like all her other expensive trinkets. Unlike her other lovers, however, Tadahiro _knew_ of the conditions of her indenture, having sought to become her _exclusive patron_ only to be denied the right. He wouldn’t have willingly given that sort of gift over to a rival clan, especially not the Kuchiki.

 _How stupid of you, Hisana_ , she thinks in wide-eyed realization.

Mistress shakes her head and waves a hand at Hisana. “I know,” she grouses, more so to herself, “Lord Konoe is not an easy man, and his love is likely not an easy burden to bear. But, he must’ve known the cost his pride demanded when he did it because he imposed no further stipulations. The kimono do not vest back to him or his estate under any condition. They’re yours outright. Do with them as you wish.”

No wonder Mistress had declared her stupid. Her mental block against reviewing her ledgers had blinded her to a solution that might’ve spared her from this horrible fate if only she had realized it sooner.

Hisana’s shoulders sag a little, and she shifts against the uncomfortable prickle of Mistress’s gaze. Hisana eyes the door. The buttery lights of the hall illuminate the rice paper, but the lights’ warmth does not fully reach her. 

Winter still rages in her soul. But, she waits. Patiently, she waits for the words yet to come. And, come they do….

“Sell them, Hisana,” her mistress says, voice breaking apart, syllable by painful syllable bursting and jagged, “sell those robes if you don’t want to be Tadahiro’s concubine.”

Hisana turns her head. She catches the pained stare her mistress offers her. In a blink of an eye, however, Mistress’s face goes blank.

“I’m going to lose you, anyway,” says Mistress. “I don’t care who purchases your contract. Money is money.” With each word, Mistress’s defenses raise until by the end they stand at full mast.

“Thank you, Mistress,” says Hisana, head bowed, but eyes trained on her mistress’s shadow as it skates across the floor. 

“Shunsho has your schedule tomorrow. It’s a full one. Welcome back, Hisana.” She slides the door open, letting in a rectangle of bright yellow light, and steps out of the room.

Mistress does not lie. Hisana’s schedule is full of important men, with important titles, who all have important things to tell her that will likely break her heart in a million important, but different, ways. She tries to fortify this heart of hers as she turns into bed.

When she wakes in the morning, her heart beats leaden and stone-cold. It feels like a burden inside her chest. The colors of her room turn ashen, and, despite Yua’s effervescent prodding, Hisana can barely manage to put herself together for an important tea with her benefactor.

She asks Yua to leave her hair undone, and so it cascades down her shoulders, shiny and threaded with the sun’s morning glow, like a raven’s feathers tussling on a sun-kissed breeze. The kimono she wears is red with silver lilies. Her layers are pulled close to her skin, swaddling her, as if she is steeling herself for a particularly vicious winter storm.

Everything else is simple. Minimal makeup. She dons no other ornaments, not even the delicate golden hairpin that the Lord Captain gave her as tribute during her debut.

Hisana selects the finest incense and tea the House has to offer. She ensures these items await him when he arrives. 

Shunsho alerts her to his presence. She gives herself one glancing look in the mirror before setting off. Her features are sharper than before. The hollows of her cheeks are sunken—the shadows clinging to her face—and the outlines of the bones in her shoulders can be seen through her layers. 

The last month had been an uneasy one. 

She looks exactly as Captain Kyōraku described her: ‘ _Desperate, as in need of respite_.’

With a sigh heavy on her lips, Hisana traces her way through the House’s halls. When she reaches the room, she finds the Lord Captain Kuchiki seated grimly at the small table that her attendants have set for him.

“Lord Kuchiki,” greets Hisana, and she bows low to the floor, hands extended forward, forehead pressed to her knuckles. “It is an honor and a—”

He cuts her off with a brusque, “Yes, I know. It’s an honor and a pleasure,” he says on an annoyed breath as if he has heard this particular expression countless times before and it was most assuredly, in all cases, neither of those things.

“I was going to say ‘ _privilege_ ,’” replies Hisana, iron sharpening her voice. She gathers herself up from the bow. “It’s a bit _premature_ to remark on whether this meeting has brought any _pleasure_ , wouldn’t you agree?” 

Nothing like the Kuchiki-brand of _dismissive_ _arrogance_ to shake away her bleakness. However, Hisana takes some small satisfaction when she catches the flicker of a smirk curve the edges of the Lord Captain’s lips. 

“Very true, Hisana,” he says, his blue eyes reflecting the glint of the morning’s sunbeams at her. “Perhaps I shall inquire after whether my presence has brought you any _pleasure_ at the end of our visit.”

“I _implore_ you to do just that.”

“No doubt you will be perfectly _honest_ in your assessment,” he says, teasingly.

“ _Honesty_ is what _courtesans_ are _best_ known for.”

This irony draws a grin from him. The sigh that follows, however, wipes any amusement clean from his face. “You have likely gleaned the purpose behind this visit.”

“I would _never_ presume to know milord’s mind,” she replies on an even breath as she pours him a cup of tea. She feels his eyes on her wrists, and she wonders if he is judging her grace. 

“A rare quality among those with whom I associate these days,” he notes, accepting her offering. “You are familiar with my grandson, Byakuya,” he continues.

“ _Intimately_ ,” she replies with a sly grin.

He takes her impertinence in stride. “Perhaps I should start farther back,” he says, brows furrowing as if considering _where_ precisely to begin this conversation, “Byakuya was a reckless youth, prone to violent flights of fancy. He was so unlike his father as a boy. We didn’t quite know what to do with him or his fits of passions, and we feared it would worsen into adolescence and young adulthood. We thought a companion might provide him a _bond_ that would temper him.”

 _Great, I’m the faceless morality chain in this story_ , muses Hisana, holding back a fiery smirk at the notion.

“My son, Sōjun, went about the task of finding someone suitable for Byakuya, but he was too lively for the noble girls his age. Byakuya required someone more,” he pauses to find the word.

 _Dead inside?_ Hisana wants to supply. Because that’s what she was when the Kuchiki family plucked her from the unruly, half-starved masses. 

“—quieter, more mature. We had considered an oiran for him when he became of age, but the selection at that time did not convince us that there would be any woman suitable for him then. We decided to sponsor one, hand-picking her ourselves and ensuring her education and talents would be compatible with Byakuya.”

A spiraling feeling sets Hisana off-kilter, and she grips the edge of her sitting mat to keep from tipping over at the revelation that she had been cleverly manipulated to fit into a mold designed purely to meet one family’s standards. Desperately, she wants to flee, to retch, to shudder, to crawl into bed and quietly retrace every step she has taken since entering the Pleasure Quarters. 

How much agency had she ever been allowed? Did she actually like dance because she was naturally inclined to it, or because she had been stuffed into a million dance classes? Byakuya likes the koto. But was his preference the reason why she, too, was convinced to pursue training with the instrument?

Had she ever had any measure of control over her life?

“We selected two girls from that season. One girl to train, and the other just in case.”

Hisana blinks, breath sharp in her lungs. 

She had _no idea_ that the Kuchiki had another oiran, and yet it seems the perfect kind of awful for that family. Pitting two indentured girls against each other, unknowingly, unwittingly.

“Do you know why Sōjun chose you?” Lord Kuchiki’s lips press to the rim of his teacup.

“No, milord.”

He takes a long sip before responding, “Among all the girls that season, you were the only one who met his gaze without a single tear in your eye. He said you were the bravest child he had ever encountered.”

Hisana chuckles lightly at this assessment of her in comparison to the other girls. “An unearned compliment, milord. I simply had the farthest to travel to the Third of any girl that season. I had spent all my tears on the sojourn. When I met Sir Kuchiki, I hadn’t any tears left to give him.”

“Sōjun was a kind soul, no doubt, and he saw the best in everyone. But, he knew you were from Inuzuri, and he thought that was what made your bravery even more extraordinary.”

“What about the other girl?”

“Sōjun selected her because she was feisty and beautiful, thinking that maybe she would mature faster than Byakuya and be more able to relate to his troublesome youth.”

“Sakuran,” murmurs Hisana. 

Sakuran was the only girl in Hisana’s season who could’ve been described as feisty. Sakuran had known some comfort in life before being sold to the Pleasure Quarters, and it was clear to Hisana that Sakuran was bitter over the terrible turn her life had taken. The other girls, however, had been sold or stolen from the dregs. They hadn’t experienced enough comfort yet to understand, let alone _feel_ , the burn of an entitlement to something _better_ than the fate dealt to them. 

Lord Kuchiki nods. “Sakuran’s wildness, however, could not be mastered, and, when the time came, we thought she would do more harm than good so we transferred our stake in her to a branch family to sponsor.”

“Did the gambit work? Did Lord Byakuya Kuchiki become tamer?” asks Hisana, incredulous, given the current state of affairs.

Lord Kuchiki pauses and offers her a sincere gaze. “Yes. By your third meeting, the changes were evident in him. His interests shifted to more thoughtful, quieter endeavors.” The lord glances down at Hisana with a remoteness that threatens to level her. “Over time, I believe he finally found his purpose.”

“What purpose was that, milord?”

“He found someone to protect.”

She inhales a tremulous breath. Every molecule wants to reject the lord’s words. Every neuron, every fiber, every sinew cries out heresy. But, the coolness of the lord’s eyes suggests that he is being perfectly objective in his assessment. This confession doesn’t emanate from a lover’s blind hope. This is an assessment coming from a man who has been beaten down by dispassionate reason.

“Why are you here, Lord Kuchiki?” she asks.

A wry grin thins his lips, and she swears she sees the glitter of steel in his eyes. “To convince you not to accept Tadahiro’s proposal.” He then turns to the satchel set at his side, and he withdraws a bundle of documents. “Here,” he says, handing the bundle to her.

“What’s this?” A sweeping glance, however, reveals that the papers set forth the terms of her concubinage. 

Her breath hitches in her throat.

“The family’s conditions for the arrangement between Byakuya and you.”

She must reject it, and do so now. Her tone and manner must be convincing enough to brook no argument. “I am grateful for the family’s sustained support; however, I cannot accept, milord.”

Lord Kuchiki lifts his head in a regal line, and he considers her the way a scholar may read a particularly difficult verse. “Have you already accepted Tadahiro’s offer?”

Hisana meets his gaze and shakes her head. “No, milord.” 

“He has made you an offer, correct?” The sharpness of his voice betrays the question as a mere courtesy.

“Yes, milord.”

“Are his terms more generous?”

How would she know? She hasn’t read a single word of the _tome_ that the Lord Captain has set in front of her. But, maybe that’s the _point_. If Tadahiro’s offer contained no conditions, he would be the victor in this particular battle.

“Tadahiro will set those terms this afternoon, I’m sure,” she says, heart quaking.

“Is your heart—”

Hisana gives a firm shake of her head. “No. To the contrary, milord. Because of with whom my heart lays, I _cannot_ accept. I do not wish to bring censure or shame to Lord Byakuya Kuchiki or his wife. The invitation of both censure and shame, however, would be inevitable if this arrangement was consummated.” She stops short, feeling her lungs empty of air. 

“And if you accepted Tadahiro’s offer, there would be no censure or shame?”

Her chin jerks up at this question. “No, milord. Quiet resignation afflicts two of the three participants to this arrangement.”

“So, you reject our offer for propriety’s sake?”

“There could be no other reason to reject an offer from my benefactor. I would never consent to an act that would bring shame to the Kuchiki.” She lowers her head like a _dog_.

The lord takes the bundle of papers from her and returns them to the satchel at his side. “Your meeting with Tadahiro is this afternoon?”

She nods.

“Don’t accept his offer, Hisana. Not yet.”

“Is that an _order_?” she asks, a wry grin hanging from her lips.

He startles a little at what she guesses to be the impertinence of her question, but, on reflection, she thinks maybe he has forgotten himself. Forgotten that they are in a bordello, not Squad Six. Forgotten that he does not wield the same control over her words and actions that he does the members of his family.

“As your benefactor,” he says with a pointed stare, finally grasping at the thin leash of control that he holds over her. This leash, he must realize, is rapidly tattering.

“I will stave off the decision for Tadahiro for as long as I can.”

Lord Kuchiki stands, and she follows suit, trailing behind him. He stops short. His fingers brush the wood of the door, and he turns to her as if he has forgotten something. 

“Did you consider this meeting a _pleasure_ , Hisana?” A dry humor flashes across his features, and, for a brief moment, Hisana imagines that Lord Kuchiki in his youth was every bit as petulant and rash as her dear Lord Byakuya.

A wide smile spreads across her face. “Not in the slightest,” she says teasingly.

He smirks at her. “The next time we meet may my presence bring sweeter news and better terms.”

“Farewell, Lord Kuchiki.” Hisana bows low and shuts the door once he steps into the hallway.

She stands alone in that room. Her chest throbs, radiating sharp pain across her back. Her pulse pounds in her ears, blotting out all sound. She presses her back to the frame of the door, and she reaches for the little square of paper tucked against her chest.

Her hands tremble as she unfolds the sheet. It is a list of who comes next on her first day back at the House. Part of her thinks the worst might be over until she remembers the next name. Her thumb strokes the characters as if she might be able to smudge them out of existence. The ink, however, holds true.

 _Captain Sōsuke Aizen_. 

She heaves a long breath, eyes falling close on the exhalation. _Why me?_ she can’t help but wonder. Her mind turns up nothing good. 

It doesn’t make sense.

Sakuran’s recovery after her procedure had been a quick one. She has returned to serving her patrons. So, why was the captain calling upon Hisana now?

 _As punishment, perhaps?_ Hisana frowns. She fears his call has turned her paranoid. But, she wants to indulge this dark thread, to pull at it all the way to the end.

“Hisana?” calls Shunsho. 

She turns and flicks back the door, elated at the distraction his presence brings.

“Your next appointment.”

“Is he here?” she asks, voice breathless and ragged.

Shunsho pauses mid-step and turns to her. For the first time in their relationship, his expression darkens into one of concern. He shuts the door behind him and asks with a whispered voice, “Are you well, Miss Hisana?”

She gapes. How she has unraveled for her poor attendant to be worrying after her welfare. 

“You look out of sorts, if you don’t mind my saying.” 

Hisana shakes her head. “I’m a little tired after my service to the Chambers.” It isn’t entirely a lie, but it certainly doesn’t feel like the truth.

Shunsho watches her closely, and she can tell he doesn’t believe a word that she has spoken. “Sakuran sometimes looks a little out of sorts before she entertains the Captain as well,” he notes. “For a man with his strength, he has always been kind to the attendants here. I just thought it was Sakuran, anxious about being spurned again. But, if you’re upset, Miss Hisana, there must be something awry.”

“ _Spurned_?” she repeats the word, hoping that Shunsho isn’t referring to the event that she is thinking of.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know,” he says with a wistful smile, “but Sakuran was supposed to be Lord Byakuya Kuchiki’s oiran.”

“Oh?” 

_Come again?_

“I guess it’s all water under the bridge now,” he says and gives a little shrug of his shoulders, “but the Kuchiki had wanted her initially for Lord Byakuya Kuchiki. Sakuran’s heritage lies in the Seireitei, and it was speculated that was the reason she was chosen for him. They put her through so much, much more than every other oiran, even _you_. So many lessons. So much training. Then, when the time came, he chose you after seeing your dance. She was devastated.”

“Understandably,” says Hisana, hugging her chest tight. Her nails sink through the fabrics of her sleeve, needling her arm. 

So, Hisana was the spare girl they selected for Lord Byakuya. The “just in case” girl. The backup girl. Sōjun had chosen Sakuran for her lineage and beauty, and he had selected Hisana because he had taken pity on the poor girl from nowhere who had spent all her tears at the tender age of ten.

“I don’t think Sakuran has ever fully recovered from the torture at the hands of that family and their devastating rejection of her despite her best efforts.” Shunsho glances down at his feet. His lips slope into a frown. “She really seemed to believe that if she charmed Lord Kuchiki that he might save her from this life.” 

Hisana wonders how much politicking Sōjun had to do to convince the family to snap up two girls instead of the one. Likely, a lot. Likely, a _whole lot_ considering one of the girls hailed from _Inuzuri_.

“Why did the Lord Captain call upon you, if you don’t mind my asking?” Shunsho raises his head and eyes her sidelong.

“To save me from this life,” says Hisana with a little huff. She steps deeper into the room, robes swaying close to the table that had been set for the Lord Captain.

“Are you leaving us, Miss Hisana?” For a rare instant, Hisana swears that she hears worry rattle dear Shunsho’s voice, and she turns.

Indeed, her attendant appears despondent, gaze fixing the wall adjacent to the door. A flicker of muscle in his jaw tells her that he is holding back disappointment.

“Most likely, Shunsho,” she says on a quiet note.

She is only now realizing that she will be leaving both him and Yua behind, and the thought scares her. Over the past nine years they have become a team, if not a makeshift family, all suffering the stings of life and rejoicing in the merrier moments together.

Shunsho gives a few nods of his head. “Of course. Both Lords Kuchiki and Konoe are fond of you. It was only a matter of time before one of them acted on it.”

“Oh, Shunsho,” she murmurs, turning to face him. “I would take you and Yua both if I could.”

“I know,” he says, brows lowered over saddened eyes. “I realize I’m not very good at expressing it, but your kindness touches both Yua and me. Not all oiran are as gentle as you, mistress.”

“That’s only because Yua and you have been gifts to me. I love you both like kin.” She draws closer to him and pats his arm soothingly. “But, I’m not gone yet, and there are still many details to discuss. Perhaps nothing will come of these talks.” 

“You placate me with pretty lies, Miss Hisana, but I’m happy to accept them all the same.” His watery eyes betray his smile.

She soothes him for a long few moments until his wet glances go dry. 

“Captain Aizen,” he starts, turning to her with renewed vigor. “He’ll be here soon.” Shunsho’s spine straightens and his shoulders square as if he is preparing to charge into battle on her order. 

Hisana grimaces as the tender warmth that filled her dissipates. Oh, yes, _Captain Aizen_ , her _next problem_. 

“This is the captain’s third visit,” notes Shunsho. Unease draws a deep wrinkle between his thick black brows. 

Hisana knows he is going to ask whether or not to set her bedding. Ordinarily, if she was accepting the patron for the third visit, she would feel obligated to do it. Right then, however, her very soul _writhes_ at the thought.

It has been so long between his calls. Had he been saving this third call? Turning it into a weapon?

She rejects these thoughts. Paying for two visits to then summarily dump her for her competition surely was done with the intent to send a _message_. And, boy, did she receive that message loud and clear: Captain Aizen had found her _so unappealing_ that not even the _guarantee of sex_ could induce him to suffer her one more time. 

So, why ask for a visit now? _Years_ later? It’s not as if their brief meeting at the Chambers had gone _particularly well_. His adjutant had _insulted her_ on more than one occasion, and she had paid his insults in kind. 

Then, there was the measure that Masao Kuchiki confronted him about, and, in so doing, exposed her involvement in raising it to two separate wisemen for review. That could not have endeared her to him, even if he had not been the source of the provision. 

_He’s punishing you_ , cries her inner cynic. Her inner _paranoid_ cynic.

The gambit isn’t a bad one, she thinks: Using sex as a way to chasten her so that he might soothe his own vanity. His terribleness could cut deeper still, if he knows about the men who seek her contract and wanted to extract some sort of fairly inconsequential leverage over them.

Hisana pushes these thoughts away. _Insane_ , she thinks. _I’m going insane._ She then starts her line of reasoning anew.

Even if Captain Aizen is a vain, prideful man prone to pursuing petty vengeance, she has no indication that such is his intent with _her_. No matter the number of times she plunders her memory of the event, she can turn up no evidence that the captain was the least bit perturbed with her.

_Right?_

_Ugh…._ No matter how she spins it, she can’t shake the nagging feeling that she’s being gaslighted.

 _This is why you didn’t mourn his loss as a patron to begin with,_ she reminds herself. 

“Should I set your bedding, Miss Hisana?” Shunsho finally asks the question that she has been dreading.

“No,” she decides.

“It’s been a long while since his last two visits,” Shunsho reasons, sounding slightly unsure of whether protocol would agree with his logic. “He probably won’t remember.”

“Indeed,” she agrees. 

If Captain Aizen is calling upon her to seek her company in a friendly way or to press her on her time spent in the Chambers, he won’t notice the missing bedding.

But, if his intent is to call upon her in retaliation for an injured pride, then _so be it_. Her gentle rejection of his sexual advances is her right. A right that is currently being protected by the two very powerful men vying for her contract.

“Set a shogi board and bring some tea and sake,” instructs Hisana.

“A shogi board?” asks Shunsho with a quizzical glance.

“Yes,” she says decidedly, “I rather think that Captain Aizen is fond of playing games.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts moving into the (hopefully) final chapter of this arc: 
> 
> (1) As always, THANK YOU to anyone who still reads this ridiculously long love letter to Kubo’s world and characters. Like, seriously. I appreciate it. (Especially since this is a long aside to the main story. Thanks for sticking with it.) 
> 
> (2) The goal is only 1 more chapter, and this arc is over. I think that’s do-able. (Famous last words, I know. But, I’m fairly confident the rest of the outline will fit into just 1 more likely, epically long chapter.) 
> 
> (3) Tax Man had a point in the plot, no? I really cringed writing the early chapters with him in it, thinking, who the hell isn’t hitting the “back” button like super-duper fast when they see the Tax Man plot? I’m a regulatory muppet who loves cost report disputes (government not paying your company at the agreed-upon rates? BRING IT ON), and even I’m like *gasp* taxes! Nooooo. Also, I really wanted to shed some light on how Hisana got decent at dealing with the Kuchiki family’s financial interests, which isn't something they teach you at the Academy for Aspiring Young Temptresses (shocking, I know). 
> 
> (4) The two kimono! I was so happy to reveal those things for the plot devices they were since they, too, were introduced eons ago. I am also happy that this part finally ties up the reasons why the kabuki theater, Tojuro, and Shunsui were introduced in the first place and why Mistress was laying that smackdown on Hisana about Tadahiro’s “love” all those chapters ago. (Mistress confuses “love” and “money,” but I forgive her.) 
> 
> (5) A note about Byakuya’s characterization: Yes, it takes him a frustratingly long time to get his act together. Writing him, I really wanted to hurry that arc of his up, but every time I tried to rush it (like chapters ago), I was like: Yeah, he’s a young rich guy working through some young rich guy entitlement drama. Mistakes must be made. His growth has got to—in the immortal words of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Aaron Burr—“wait for it.” I think he finally gets there in this chapter. He has a relapse in the very beginning…. But he gets there.


End file.
